


cruel summer

by safeandsound13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Meet-Cute, Mother-Daughter Relationship, POV Outsider, Teacher!Bellamy, and deserve her and thats on what? period!, anyway this is essentially a love letter to clarke, because madi and bellamy are the only two people who appreciate her, cuz she is one deal with it, cyberflirting, fuckboy!clarke, i dont use zoom i dont know what it is, im ashamed to say this but its based on a tiktok, im sorry for betraying you vine my very first love, introvert!clarke, just throwing around words, nurse!clarke, shes my favorite, teenager!madi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: Bored and in need of a side-project during lockdown, Madi decides to hook her mom up with her history teacher. Also like, altruistic reasons and like, wanting to see her mom happy and whatever.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Madi, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Madi
Comments: 70
Kudos: 325
Collections: Bellarke Bingo





	cruel summer

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be handing in my Not a Date^tm bingo card for this one. i asked for a new one bc inspiration was kind of low on the other one so we back to square one baby! i tried to keep madi in character as much as i could, but she is a teen who did not grow up in the apocalypse so keep that in mind.
> 
> song in title is cruel summer. get 😂 it 😂 because 😂 it's 😂 a 😂 cruel 😂 summer 😂 anyway, stream!
> 
> so, in conclusion, take care of yourself and take care of me by leaving a 2.5k comment<3

Since the country went on lockdown and Madi was forced to stay at home, she’s slowly been going crazy. Online classes were even more boring than her usual classes, especially since now she didn’t even get to hang with her friends to make it all worth it. She’s never been good at sitting still. She needed a distraction, fast.   
  


It wasn’t until one fateful Tuesday afternoon six weeks deep into social distancing that Madi finally found one, hinging on three little, teeny-tiny Kylie Jenner type of Realizations™.

_One_

Madi’s history teacher isn’t her favorite teacher, that’s reserved for Miss McIntyre from PE who, whenever they finish doing laps early, usually lets them pad up in protective suits and kick each other. Bellamy is however most definitely Madi’s _coolest_ teacher, if only for the reason he lets them call him Bellamy instead of Mr. Blake. 

That, and he gets really into his lectures. He makes history about as much fun as it can be, passionately retelling it and always gesturing around wildly. He’s kind of funny too, sometimes, but only because he’s not trying. He’s tough on them, and is definitely not afraid of a little class discussion, but always fair. All in all, his hour-long class always seems to pass within twenty. 

_Two_

Madi might be losing her mind but her mom, however, is thriving with this new way of life. She _loves_ social distancing, might be it’s biggest fan. Now when she gets home from work, she doesn’t have to make up any excuses as to why she doesn’t want to go out for dinner with Monty or have drinks with Raven. 

(Sometimes Madi thinks Clarke got her just because she was a convenient excuse to not have to go out all the time.) (Then again, nine out of ten times she’s the one handing her mom her coat, pushing her out the door and telling her not to come back before 11 pm.)

Lately, Madi has been slowly figuring out her mom isn’t just a homebody. 

Sure, her energy kind of dwindles when she has to interact with other people for too long, even though she kind of lives for making them happy anyway. (She is super selfless like that, Madi’s worked out). Plus, she has to recover for like at least a day after the big social gatherings Abby makes her go to — fundraiser gala this, don’t you care about sick babies and keeping up appearances, Clarke that— although she can totally empathize because her grandma only hangs out with boring rich people. And yeah, her mom is really happy just chilling by herself all the time, taking obscenely long baths, or reading one of her boring medical journals, or painting for hours on an end. But, and it’s a big but, it’s not _just_ that. 

See, it’s never dinner with Monty, or drinks with Raven, it’s dinner with Monty and Miller, or drinks with Raven and Zeke. Her mom used to just take her along, but now that she’s older that’s just kind of lame, which must mean it’s even more glaringly obvious she’s the only one who is alone. A fifth-wheel, at best. And even if their significant others don’t come along, conversation must still mainly be about them. What else do old people have going on in their lives? Not much.

Madi will be the first to admit her mom is kind of a loser. Like, it’s kind of pathetic living your life for the only kid you have. Besides, she’s fourteen now. In like five years she’ll be off to college, and then what? She’ll just replace her with a new foster kid that’ll obviously never live up to her? Madi thinks not.

Besides, she feels kind of bad, considering she’s the reason her mom is even single. When she was six and Clarke took her in, she was kind of really angry at everyone. Seeing your own parents and little brother die right in front of you before being shipped from religious family to group home to grumpy old man with seven other kids for being ‘difficult’ does that to a kid.

Yet Clarke kept trying. Even after Madi and that skate she left around for her to trip over after a fight accidentally broke her mom’s ankle when she took a tumble down the stairs after an exhausting night shift. Her mom’s best and most annoying trait is that she’s incredibly stubborn, and eventually Madi learned to trust her. 

Trust turned into love, and love turned into entitlement. For a long period of time, Madi got clingy. And possessive. And threw temper tantrums for hours if anyone seemed to be threatening her special time with her mom. 

Lexa tried for a good two and half years, but then when Clarke said she wanted to adopt her Lexa told her she’d been fine with this being a temporary thing, but she couldn’t do it permanently. Kids were never in her future. Or at least, it’s what Madi’s been able to piece together over the years, listening in on her mother’s conversations and reading her emails and texts behind her back, and even that one time her Tinder account.

Okay, Madi has trouble not meddling with other people’s business. She realized her mistake when she read things no daughter should ever have to read. At least now she knew her mom wasn’t a total loser, kind of a player actually, and did get busy — in ways Madi does not want to discuss — whenever she had sleepovers at her friend’s places.

Besides, it’s not the meddling in things that are not Madi’s business that have kept her mother a lonely spinster. She’s still not sure why she hasn’t really tried with anyone else after Lexa. Niylah was a frequent flyer for like a few months, but Madi knows for a fact — Facebook — that she has a girlfriend now. Who, by the way, is a total downgrade from her mom, because her mom is a total smart, funny, kickass, life-saving babe. And it’s not like Madi will go full psycho again, her mother knows this. 

Of course there were some deeper issues at play that Clarke eventually ended up sending her to a therapist for, like the crippling separation anxiety, and the overbearing fear of abandonment, and God, the anger issues? And although sometimes anger is still the easiest emotion for her to grasp onto, Madi likes to think that eight years after the fact she’s doing a lot better, though, and most of it’s thanks to her mom. 

Besides the really expensive therapist, and then the other even more expensive one because Madi hated the first, Clarke has always been there for her. She never gave up on her, no matter how ugly things got, no matter how many times she screwed up, no matter what mean things Madi threw in her face, metaphorically or physically speaking. Her mom gave her unconditional love, even when she wasn’t ready for it. She sacrificed so much just to give her a safe home and Madi thinks she deserves to get something in return for once. 

And like she said, her mom was a total player. But the things about players is, that once the game is over, you’ve got nothing left to show for it. Because there’s no winning in the game of love? Think of it like professional fishing. There’s a lot of fishes in the pond though, and to protect herself, her mom has only been fishing for the little ones. The ones that’ll sustain you for another day, if you were on like, an abandoned island, but they wouldn’t keep you alive for long. And although Madi is kind of drowning in this metaphor trying to keep herself sane and not thinking about what her mom actually does with all those Tinder messages in her inbox wondering why she stopped replying, she does think that her mom misses it. Having a partner who is not a fourteen year old hormonal, angry mess. 

To like, have adult conversations about the economy or something, and take to her grandma’s yawn-inducing galas, and drink wine with. God, it’s not like Madi _actually_ knows what old people do together, just that for the longest time, she _knew_ her mom was perfectly fine with being alone. They had each other, and that was enough. She doesn’t _know_ that any longer though, and she _really_ knows her mom. Like, better than the back of her hand, even. 

Right now, Madi thinks her mom is lonely. 

_Three_

Anyway, that fateful Tuesday afternoon Madi is on the couch conspicuously scrolling through her instagram feed, hidden in the small hole in between her criss-crossed legs, laptop on the coffee table, Zoom open while Mr. Blake’s voice drones through the living room. He’s talking about Napoleon and other fancy French words. Like, passionately, for some unknown reason. 

Her mom comes in at one point with a laundry basket, easily wrestling her phone from her without even sparing her a single look. Madi groans, picking up the laptop as she lays down on the couch, balancing it on her lower stomach as she crosses her arms in protest. It’s not like history is actually important. Not more important than finding a cool DIY nail-polish hack she could try out in the bathroom later. 

Clarke scoffs at her attitude, plopping down in the big armchair beside the couch to start folding the clean clothes into neat piles. Madi tilts at her head at one point to see her mom’s been re-folding the same shirt for the third time now, her eyes quickly flicking away from Madi’s computer screen when she notices her looking.

_Interesting_ , she thinks. Like she said, she knows her mom, and the fact she looked away as soon as Madi noticed her looking means she’s hiding something. Madi smirks, sitting up and carelessly discarding the computer back on top of the table next to a stack of her mother’s underwear. She’s sure Mr. Blake won’t mind her taking a two minute break. The teen adjust her sleeping shorts, pulling her knees up to her chest as she raises her bushy brows, judgmentally, of course. “Are we interested in the French Revolution now?”

Her mother keeps her eyes trained on the pjs in her lap that she’s handling, lifting half a shoulder. There’s a cool tone to her voice, almost too cool. “Not really.”

Madi narrows her eyes, not easily satisfied. She’ll need her to admit it, so she can justify the plans already making way in her mind. “Then why were you staring?”

“He’s kind of hot,” her mom admits, low and with a fake bravado when her cheeks literally have no other reason to currently be flushed a pretty pink, back eerily straight.

Madi scrunches up her nose — because God, that’s freaking gross — crossing her arms over her chest as if offended. “What? Since when do you find people _ho_ _t_?” A shudder runs down her back, and she makes an ugh kind of sound at the images swimming in front of her eyes. “I didn’t know old people still even used that word.”

“I’m thirty, and I’m not _blind_ ,” Clarke throws back at her with an amused glint in her eyes. “I know more scary words.” She waggles her eyebrows, lowering her voice conspiratoirally, “Like sexy.”

Madi throws herself back against the couch, arms limply stretches out over the cushions on either side of her as she stares at the wall above the television with a distant look in her eyes. “Ugh, I think my breakfast just came back up.”

“Pay attention to your lecture,” Clarke simply dismisses her, sticking out her tongue as she smoothes out the t-shirt in her lap. 

That’s when things slowly started to click in her head.

Now, one plus two is obviously three, and Madi doesn’t really know what that has to do with anything and she’s very bad with math, but basically, the conclusion is that her mom is interested. In her teacher. Who, objectively, she knows is relatively cute. And he has a job, which is a step-up from the guy her grandma tried to set her mom up with after Lexa (one date total, in serious need of a haircut and apparently a second girlfriend). 

Which brings her to the plan, side-project, altruistic deed, whatever.

As far as she knows, her mom and history teacher have never met. Her grandma goes to most of her PTA meetings because Clarke’s shifts never line up, but even to the ones she has been, Madi doesn’t think they’ve ever crossed paths. Madi is very bad at math, like a disaster, and mostly all their time and energy goes to begging Miss Diyoza to let her do an extra credit assignment to make up for her pathetic grades every other month.

And it’s not like they _could_ meet now. It’s a warzone out there. There’s a pandemic, and like, people are dying. All she knows is that it can’t last forever, and once it’s over, her mom deserves someone to tell her boring work stories to. Like, someone who’ll _actually_ listen to them, and not just nod along like Madi does.

And it’s not like there are a lot of other options out there. Beside the one twenty-minute grocery trip every three days, outside world contact is limited to _very_ few people. Their delivery man is already halfway down their driveway before they even open the door and she’s not sure her mom would have the same reaction to Mr. Pike from Geo, or even more ew, ancient Mr. Wallace from art class. Madi could start marinating the idea of a romantic relationship between them, you know, just to start the ball rolling. 

Her mom won’t even _know_ she ever meddled in any non-Madi business. 

* * *

Mr. Blake’s office hours aren’t that popular, but it’s the only one-on-one time she can get with him. He’s a guidance counselor, and the school has given him a few extra Zoom hours a week for kids who need someone to talk to now they’re stuck at home. Madi thought it was stupid at first, some girls in her group-chats were saying they made up reasons to talk to him because he’s cute. But then she complained about it to her mom, and she reminded her not everybody has a safe home. 

Now Madi thinks it’s kinda cool, ‘cause she knows Aden’s dad is kind of an asshole and at least at school he didn’t have to be around him all day. She texts him all the time, and they facetime a lot, but it’s mostly to distract him. It’s not like she has any good advice to give him. She remembers how lonely and isolating it was for her with that one family who only wanted her for the monthly check she brought along, and she thinks it would have been nice, if there was someone for her to confide in. An adult, who like, has actual resources and numbers they can call. It’s cool.

And it’s not like she was going to be hogging someone else’s time, someone who needed this more than her, considering she signed up for a half-an-hour time block like yesterday — the fateful Tuesday afternoon — and most of them were still available. 

Besides, he’s the last teacher who would get mad at kids for scheduling themselves only to ask for after-school clarifications on assignments or some quick tutoring. It wouldn’t be that hard to believe either. It’s not like history is a particularly difficult subject to follow, but Madi did do Bad on her last test. 

(Frankly, Madi thinks it’s stupid. She could read all the things he says in her textbook and still ace the test. It’s just that she was hyper-distracted by making her own slime, partly from the bulk of glitter eye-makeup Uncle Jasper got her for her birthday last year because he’s an idiot who most likely just got high and Googled ‘stuff girls like’, and mostly her mom’s art supplies in the three days in which she had to study for it.)

She runs zero risk of failing the next one though, because this time she’ll actually study and her mom has told her if she ever touches her expensive art stuff without permission again she’ll take away her phone. And that thing is like her lifeline these days. Seriously, how else will she try out another useless Snapchat filter and waste away another hour or two? Even worse, what if her friends try it out without her and the hype is over by the time her mom hands her her phone back? Exactly. A literal nightmare.

She just knows Mr. Blake loves the sound of his own voice and will be more than happy to explain some boring history stuff to her again. And again. The things she will do for her mom… She is seriously a saint. 

Madi will just fake it until she makes it. The first ‘It’ meaning she’ll try to live a day in the life of a dumbo who doesn’t know how to read history textbooks, and the second being the completion of the first step of her genius plan. Setting things in motion, and all. 

Settling in at the kitchen table, Madi bluffs her way through the first five minutes of their conversation. He wants to make sure she _only_ scheduled their meeting for educational purposes, which isn’t exactly true but whatever, and not because she wants to tell him something someone could overhear. It’s stupid, because her mom isn’t even home and is like, the best person alive, but she gets it. 

It does mean her mom comes home before she gets where she wants to get. Madi thought it would be in and out. One obligatory history question, she subtly drops the info her mother is hot and single, and they could both log out. She’d play some more Sims, and he could start entertaining the thought of getting to make-out with her mom.

Her mother is rummaging in the hallway of their apartment for a while, putting away her stuff, giving Madi long enough to skim her homework and quickly blurt out a question about it. Bellamy, predictably, goes off into an entire rant so Madi can actually let the tension drain from her shoulders. As long as he’s talking, her mom will just assume it’s another lecture and won’t ask her any questions about it.

  
Instead, Clarke doesn’t even seem to notice Madi’s laptop is out, humming a song to herself under her breath as she comes into the living room. When she comes up to the kitchen table to press a kiss against her cheek in greeting, fingers wrapped around her shoulders, Madi notices the airpods in her ears, loud enough to block any sound.

She takes one out, giving her a small smile. Thankfully, Bellamy is mute. “I’m going to take a bath, okay?”

To be fair, she probably just thinks she’s doing homework. It’s way past four pm, and she usually doesn’t have any classes at this time. She doesn’t even now, but that’s besides the point. 

“Sure thing, mom,” Madi says quickly, just a little strained, desperately hoping she won’t look at the laptop and figure her all out with just one look. Her mom is good at that, unfortunately, and Madi doesn’t want her entire plan to be in shambles before she even gets started. 

Another squeeze of her shoulders, and Madi can let out a relieved breath. She catches Mr. Blake’s eyes linger on her mother’s retreating form though, which she totally counts as a win, and has her stifling a smug smirk. 

It’s not like she _needed_ confirmation, but it’s nice to know he’s totally into her mom too. Who wouldn’t be? She’s the most beautiful person alive. Madi wishes they looked more alike all the time.

And she’s not stupid. She thought hard about all the personal information Bellamy has ever let slip about himself in class. It’s not much, but she knows he has a sister, and maybe a pet. No ring though, not now, not ever. If there’s one thing Gossip Girl has taught her it’s that as long as there’s not a wedding ring, anything could happen. 

So, he’s available. And all available men and women are into her mother. It’s just simple Biology. Science, or like Chemistry. Any of the above.

They’re making it too easy on her, really. Now all she has to casually drop is, “My mom is allowed to leave the house because of her job.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Bellamy answers, placating, pushing up the sleeve of one of his button downs. He gave up on the tie three weeks into quarantine. His mouth twitches. “I was very impressed by her wearing outside clothes at this hour.”

“Yeah, as a nurse she has a very caring personality, you know?” Madi almost giggles with how easy this is, tapping the side of her bare, jittery foot against the leg of the chair impatiently. She leans her chin on her fist, letting out a small wistful sigh, “I think it’s why she took me in in the first place.”

His eyebrows jump up a little, and she can’t blame him. Madi is the last person to get all personal in class. But this isn’t class, and this is all in the name of her mother’s happiness. “You’re being fostered?”

“At first,” Madi shrugs. “I glo’d up to being adopted.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I assume it means something positive,” he chuckles, and there seems to be some hesitance, not knowing if he should take his chance and push this with her considering she usually clams up like a certified freak or just drop it, before he inquires, conversationally, “You been with her long?’

“Over eight years now,” she replies, then can’t help but let out a nervous giggle as she presses, “Just me and my mom.”

Bellamy hums affirmatively, tapping his finger on his desk as he seems to be in thought. The victory she feels at succeeding with step one, is something she’s never experienced before. It’s freaking awesome, it’s like getting away with something. 

The moment passes just as quickly, the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement as he answers, sitting up in desk chair, “Talking about iconic duos, let’s get back to Napoleon and stepping stools, huh?” He tilts his head, actually sounding _excited_ , “You said you had some questions.”

Madi rolls her eyes with a sigh, slumping back in her chair. Her mom better marry this guy and make this worth it. “Yeah, about the song from the Mamma Mia movie or whatever? Can you explain it again?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just say _that,_ and for my own sanity I will pretend you know who Abba is,” Bellamy says with a pointed look, although Madi has a hard time schooling her face into something neutral instead of confused, to which he groans, shaking his head lightly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. She stifles a laugh at his frustration, instead scrunching up her face as he starts off, “Okay. It’s March, 1815…”

Marriage? There better be brothers and sisters in her future. Lots of them. Fat and cute and baby-like, and Instagram accounts for each of them, that she can run. God, she deserves every single like.

* * *

Another day, another Zoom meeting with her History teacher. 

It’s been a week since she’s started dropping how ‘pathetic and single but totally a catch’ her mother is into every interaction with Bellamy. From forcing Ethan to type in MADI’S MOM IS SO PRETTY in the comment section as soon as she walked by in return for her Disney+ password, to somehow weaving a ‘ _my mom_ ’ and a three-minute long rant into him asking her for an answer to what her example of a historical hero was. She’s kind of a genius, if she does say so herself.

His reactions were simply to demand they all keep it to class related subjects in the comments with that annoying authoritative tone of his that they all knew meant business, and told her with an amused smile on his face that it was a nice answer, but not really what he was looking for, respectively. It got him to think about her mother though and that’s all she could really hope for. It was reverse psychology, or something, a thing like with the subconscious, for sure. 

It’s five by the time her appointment with Mr. Blake is up, all the earlier slots taken already, and it’s another twenty minutes before her mom walks in, presumably to start dinner. (It’s not really one of her talents, but she’s learned to make most of her creations edible at least.) It’s been over a week now, and Madi is getting bored again. They need to speed things up a little. And this is the perfect opportunity to do so.

Madi cuts off her teacher mid-sentence about the specifics of the new essay on the First World War, pulling her mother into the frame and into the chair besides her by the hem of her sweater. “Bellamy, this is my mom!”

Clarke startles for just a second, then looks between her and the laptop as it all seems to catch up with her. “Madi,” she scolds, sending her one of those firey ‘ _you’ve embarrassed me and expect a verbal smackdown as soon as we’re alone_ ’ looks that she figures she’ll be able to survive, before looking over at the screen apologetically. 

Madi rolls her eyes, already knowing what’s it about. Sometimes her mother’s private school education bubbles to the surface like it’s second nature. It’s usually reserved for running into one of her step-grandpas co-workers in the grocery store, but Madi not using any of the basic manners she’s tried to teach her usually gets her all posh too. “Mr. Blake lets us call him by his first name, mom.”

“Oh,” Clarke says dumbly, then scrapes her throat as she straightens a little, pulling down her sweater to straighten it out and cover the sliver of pale skin peaking out. 

She beams, bright and so big it hurts her cheeks as she motions towards the screen again. “I’ve told you about my favorite teacher before.”

“Well,” her mom starts with an unfamiliar glint in her eyes and one of her brows slightly arched as she looks him up and down, and Madi can’t help but gloat at how this is all working out in her favor, “He probably shouldn’t let his teenage students call him by his first name.”

Madi gapes at her mother for being so unexpectedly rude, but to her surprise Mr. Blake actually laughs, shifting a little in his desk chair so he’s leaning back in it, which just leaves her gaping at the screen next. “And why’s that?”

Clarke lifts one shoulder half-heartedly, lips pursing slightly. “You’re their teacher. They should be respectful to you.”

Her mom is being a total bitch. Not like openly, but there’s definitely an undercurrent of that exact aura, which is obviously worse, and it’s _glorious_. If only it wasn’t ruining her plans. Couldn’t she have picked any other day? She’s not even on her cycle yet. 

“Well, a title doesn’t earn you respect. It’s earned, not assumed,” Bellamy counters back easily, leaning forward on his elbows on the other side of the screen. His sleeves are rolled up again, and his hair looks relatively presentable today. His voice is cool, casual, a little patronizing even, “Forming a personal relationship with your students does. It makes them feel more comfortable, which puts them more at ease when taking charge of their own learning and makes them feel more confident when it comes to questioning adults.”

“Fair enough,” Clarke grits through her teeth, obviously grudged she has to admit she agrees with him, which is a rare occurence to start with, “but as a teacher you’re also supposed to set an example, be a leader.” Her mom leans closer to the screen, her eyes narrowed in a dangerous way that has a shudder run down Madi’s spine. She would _not_ like to be on the receiving end of that one. “There’s a difference between respect and respectful behaviour. I hardly think you can demand that by letting them call you, what was it?”

The corners of his mouth turn up, albeit a bit arrogant, as he allows, “Bellamy—”

“Bellamy,” she echoes it like it’s a dirty word, and Madi feels like she’s watching a tennis match, not really sure if this is turning out an epic success or a colossal fail. There’s a tension that’s making her feel weirdly uncomfortable.

“Removing social distance helps me be more approachable, and as a leader that’s really important,” he counters nonchalantly and pointedly, reply quick, but his brow is furrowed as if offended when he continues, “I mean, I feel like I’m positioning myself as a learner alongside my students, rather than this holder of all knowledge,” there’s an edge to his voice next, “like some people, you know?”

Her mom is impressed, she can tell as much. Yet, she says, “And the only skill-set you have developed during your two impressive years at college—” Madi’s eyes fall on the same framed _Arkadia Community College_ diploma on his wall as her moms fiery gaze, and a flutter of guilt rises up in her chest at her mom’s unprompted meanness, “to accomplish that is by letting them call you by your first name, Mr. Blake?”

His nostrils flare, and there’s a clench of his jaw, but to what seems to be all of their surprise, he simply folds his hands together on his desk and _smirks._ “Well, if we’re getting technical, you should be calling me Dr. Blake.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again as if to say something, but then his eyes flit over to her side of the screen and he clamps it shut again. This seems to make her mother deflate as well, falling back in her chair, arms crossed over her pale-blue sweater covered chest. 

“So,” Madi clears her throat, awkwardly, gaze flicking between the two of them. “What I think my mother meant was ‘nice to meet you’.”

She actually looks guilty, briefly looking at her daughter before wrapping her fingers around the edge of the table, “I’m sorry.” She takes a deep, begrudging inhale, easing off the furniture with one hand to run it through her hair, still damp from her earlier shower. The edges are starting to curl. Her mom’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and then she rolls them together, thoughtful. “I had a rough shift today and instead of taking it out on my barely edible lasagna, or my kid like a normal person,” she glances over at Madi with a small smile before it falls again, apology genuine albeit against her instincts, “I took it out on you, a virtual stranger.”

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting in his chair so his elbows can lean on top of the desk again. His back is ramrod straight, and his facial expression is kind of funny. “No worries,” he brushes her off, resting his hands on his biceps, and Madi realizes she’s never seen him like _this_. Is Mr. Always Believe In Yourself nervous? She stifles a gasp. This really is the Apocalypse of Realizing™ things. “And, uhm, thank you.”

Her mom frowns. “For what?”

Bellamy grins, and the screen pixelates for a moment before he’s back. “I was going to,” crackle, “your service, but that kind of makes it sound like you’re going off to war—”

Madi rolls her eyes, because yeah, he’s _definitely_ flirting. Badly. She just went off on him and he’s complimenting her. Her mom likes people with spines. And if he thinks she is this easy he’s got another thing coming.

She cocks an eyebrow, fighting a smile, lifting her shoulders kind of cutely, and _oh_. She is actually falling for it. “Being a nurse is kind of like going off to war.”

He tips his head, a weirdly amused look on his face. “Thank you, for the service, then.”

“Thanks for all you do, too,” Clarke returns, and the worst part is Madi knows she means it. Her mom is really good at missing signs. Not just missing them, but seeing them, and turning them into the opposite of what they are. Their new neighbour Cillian told her he _liked_ her and invited her over for a BBQ on his balcony and Madi had to break it to her he didn’t want her daughter to tag along. Error 404 took place inside her brain, Madi could literally see it happening. Her mom made Madi look through the peephole before she had to leave for work for over two weeks. She probably thinks she and Bellamy are just essential workers being essential workers. “Not many teachers would let their student’s mom wrongfully yell at them about where they got their degree just to let off some steam.”

Bellamy smirks in a way she’s maybe only see him do at Miss McIntyre when he thought they were alone, dark eyes gleaming and tilting his head slightly. “Not many teachers let their students call them by their first name either, but I think we’ve established I’m special.”

A laugh, an actual boisterous, happy, giggly _laugh_ , and all Madi can do is look on in horror. Her mother just kind of stupidly smiles at the screen for a moment, before shaking her head a little, smacking a kiss to her daughter’s temple. “Let me get to work on that horrid lasagna and stop interrupting your lesson.”

Before Madi can oppose, her mom is lifting herself off the chair, and with a small, awkward wave, disappears out of the frame. Her hand is still hovering in the air, as if to stop her mother from leaving her alone with her teacher.

Mr./Dr./Bellamy/Blake, _whatever,_ is already looking at her, and the panicked look she doesn’t tame in time, all judgmentally. The silence is kind of killing her. 

Madi opens her mouth, but then closes her fist, resting in her lap slowly, and rails herself in just in time. This is what he wants. He _wants_ her to reveal her masterplan. She’s seen this trick before, when he wants to know if somebody with a bad grade didn’t study for the test, and — and when he tried to find out who stuck gum on Reese’s chair! Myles’ hands still shake whenever Bellamy looks at him too long. 

He looks impressed, though, and doesn’t push. “About the word count then?”

* * *

The next time truly, _honestly_ isn’t her fault. 

Bellamy is halfway through talking her through an assignment that she _really_ did have questions about, when her mother storms out of the bathroom, holding up her shin guards. “Madi, you said you would clean up your gear!”

“I will,” she yells back, forehead creasing in embarrassment as she twists her torso to glare at her fully over the back of the armchair. “ _Later._ ”

“ _Now,_ ” Clarke seethes, tossing the gear at her head. Madi catches it easily like she knew she would and then proceeds to throw it on the couch with a stubborn flair to it, leaning back sideways in the chair. The perfect position to serve her mother some serious attitude. Her mom storms closer, starting with an “I almost broke my neck just now,” and for sure about to go into full-blown lecture mode, then notices who’s staring at her from the laptop on the coffee table and quickly comes to a stop. 

“Mrs. Griffin,” Bellamy starts, amused. 

Her fingers wrap around the back of the chair, fingernails turning white as she pulls on the towel around her torso, making sure she’s covered. Her neck is turning all splotchy. “It’s Miss,” she insists, and then shakes her head, just barely biting down on her lip, “and you can call me Clarke.”

Madi turns back to glare at the screen, because she _could_ not have been more clear on the fact her mother is single. He’s not looking at her, of course. He’s look all satisfied with himself though, and, _oh_ , she deflates. He just wanted to hear it from her. 

“Nice outfit,” he teases, voice a little deeper than normal, and her mother shifts uncomfortably on her feet. Madi realizes it’s _not_ because her mother is refusing the compliment, Clarke’s blue eyes flicking over to her briefly, it’s because she _likes_ it but her daughter’s right there.

She can’t believe her plan is working so well she’s basically been rendered useless. The student became the master, without even knowing it. 

“I’m going to hydrate,” Madi announces loudly with a twirl of her hand towards the fridge, pushing her mother into the chair as she passes her by on her way towards the kitchen. Pulling out a pouch of Capri-sun, she gives her mother a pointed look, nudging her chin at the laptop. 

Clarke glares at her, then reluctantly makes her way around the chair and sits down on it carefully. She tucks a lock that fell from her messily clipped back hair behind her ear, folding both hands beneath her thighs. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says in return, and Madi can see his stupid grin all the way from where she’s standing, purposely turning her back on them as she slowly sips on her drink. They’re horrible at this. 

In the reflection of the microwave she can see her mother sends her another nervous glance, before relaxing a little. “How’s quarantine?”

“Boring,” he starts off, and she remembers finding his Facebook with Charlotte once. It was private, of course, but there were a lot of people on the profile pics they could swipe through. Colorful lei around his neck here, glow in the dark paint on his cheek there, bro pose after bro pose, Mr. Blake was definitely a popular guy. Unlike her mom, who’s social circle consists of the same three friends she’s had since forever, whoever they pick as a significant other for the time being, and the old lady from work who they don’t even allow to be a nurse anymore so now they just have her clean up their supply closets and take patients for a walk around the unit. Her mom’s a weirdo. “Starting to go a little stir-crazy to be honest. What about you?”

“Yeah, I actually don’t mind it that much,” an understatement if Madi’s ever heard one, “I can finally catch up on all the books I’ve bought with the intention of reading someday.”

He seems to perk up at this, because _of course_ they’ll turn this into a book club meeting. “What are you reading?”

“Little Fires Everywhere.”

Seriously, she can’t sip any slower than this.

“A new classic.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

They’re talking about the English language now?!

“So is cold sweat.”

Madi glances at the microwave again, sees her mom wipe at her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I just showered.”

“I noticed,” he teases, playfully suggestive lilt to his voice that causes Madi to silently gasp to herself. He’s _good_.

It earns him a dark chuckle from her mom, that raspy kind she’s only ever heard her use on that girl Delilah from the corner store. It’s her _sexy_ laugh. She’s pulling out all the stops. “And you?”

“A re-read actually. I just recently watched Emma and it made me want to experience it again.” Oh, he’s better than good, Madi realizes when he adds, genuine, “You remind me of her, actually.”

She can hear the eye-roll in her mother’s voice, the subtle sarcasm laced in it. “An exhausted girl out there risking her life mistakenly makes a derogatory comment about community college once—” 

“—it was not as much the comment as it was the whole disdained attitude.”

They call this flirting? Jesus, they’re the textbook definition of nerds. It’s hard to listen to. 

“I do not have an attitude.”

“You looked down on me for not following an archaic set of rules made up by dead people who thought they were superior for being born sooner.” It’s not hard to understand this is Mr. Blake being smug.

A small huff from her mom, “Maybe it was just your face that set me off.”

“I have a nice face. People tell me all the time.”

“You’re an ass,” her mom says matter-of-factly, and has Madi squeeze the pouch in her hand so tightly she nearly spills half of it down her shirt. “Maybe I hate nice faces.”

Madi risks a look at them, wiping her shirt with a paper towel she rips from the holder on the wall next to the fridge. Her mom is sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders relaxed as if unbothered. If she squints, she can make out his smirk, and if he’s offended he doesn’t show it, “I doubt it.”

Madi throws the soaked paper towel in the sink, picking her drink back up. She stares at it almost dreadfully. She came into the kitchen to drink some juice and hopefully steer her mom and History teacher into a romantic direction, and she’s about to be all out of juice. It doesn’t seem like they’ve made much progress. 

“Well, if I’m Emma, does that make you Mr. Knightley?” She nearly chokes on her Capri-sun. 

Now, she’d been forced to read Emma for English class not even a year ago, and while she remembers little of it because she went for the SparkNotes version instead, she can distinctly recall the principle love story well enough to know that that was a certified come-onto’ing. So _this_ is how her mom got all those Tinder matches fawning over her. She has game.

Suddenly, Madi is worried. It crawls up her throat like a vice, forming a lump in her throat and drying up her mouth even though she’s literally just downed an entire Capri-sun. Her mom dating her history teacher is one thing. She’ll be done with middle school in like three months and considering this pandemic is refusing to die off, it is something she’ll be able to bridge easy peasy. But her mom, notorious and enthusiastic ghoster, _ghosting_ her teacher? That’s another thing. It’ll be freaking legendary, and not in a good way either. It’ll taint her rep all the way into high school.

Mr. Blake is all soft inside, even though he tries to hide it with all the stupid jokes and the overly confident attitude, and he’s cried more than once in class. (From the top of her head, when Reese’s dad came to class and told them she was going to lose her eyesight because of some disease her mother assured Madi she couldn’t get because it was genetic, and that time Artigas was super upset because his pet turtle died.) It made her uncomfortable at first, and ashamed for him because what the hell, but then the more she thought about it, the more it put her at ease with her own conflicting emotions. Either way, he has a lot of _those_. 

And she’s not saying her mom’s a slutty robot, but she’s definitely out of touch. Not with her sluttiness, obviously, but unquestionably with her feelings. 

Of course she’s not trying to slutshame her own mother, because she’s well-read on the subject and Tumblr has informed her that’s just sexism disguised as well-intended criticism. Just.. there were _a lot_ of messages. 

The farther Madi scrolled, the more that popped up, and kept popping up. From _Baby, why don’t you ever call me anymore?_ to _u got what u wanted and now u ignore? ur a bitch lol._ And Madi’s definitely not judging, because like, good for her, and screw them for thinking they even deserved her mom for longer than a night or apparently a lunch break, but she just didn’t really think about the consequences of _all_ of this before. 

Her mom didn’t even tell her _‘I love you’_ until she did it first. She’s like, constipated, emotionally or something. When her friends say it to her, she always murmurs a ‘Me too’ like she’s physically incapable of forming the words. 

Madi knows it’s like the last thing she told her dad before he d-worded, but it’s been like fifteen years and a simple ILY is not what killed him off. It was a storm and an oil rig that couldn’t withstand it. If they’re gonna be picky, she should hate the weather too. It’s not like Madi hates cars because they took her family from her. 

And it’s not like Bellamy is like _in love_ with her mom — he barely knows her for freak’s sake! It’s just that, Madi knows it’s not hard. To fall in love with her mom. She’s kind of repeating herself here, but she’s seriously a pretty amazing person and people always do a double-take when they see her wandering down the street all obliviously. 

It wasn’t hard for Madi, who swore she would never again. Hurt too brutally before, she closed herself off, boarded up her windows and barricaded all the exits, and yet Clarke still found a way inside. Her mom just has a Thing about her. It’s annoying.

She’ll need some time to reconsider everything, work out the kinks in her plan before it all backfires. She _will_ lose her mind if her mother breaks Bellamy’s heart. Madi quickly and loudly slurps up the rest of her drink, tossing the pouch into the trash. 

“He does seem right up your alley, considering you’re both so hung up on honorifics.”

Her mother’s eyes are pretty much _sparkling._ “George just doesn’t quite have the same ring, does it?”

“I’m back,” Madi exclaims, not at all casual, which just earns her a small, weird glance from Clarke, stuffing herself into the armchair beside her. It’s a tight enough fit that her mom takes the hint and gets up. 

“Great,” Bellamy says, and she’ll try not to be offended at the disappointment coating his voice. He does well at hiding it but still. He should realize she’s doing this for his benefit. 

“Well, I should,” Clarke throws a thumb over her shoulder, side-eyeing Madi, “Get dressed.”

“Probably,” Bellamy says with a smile, but he does not sound like he means it.

Her mother disappears into her bedroom, and Madi doesn’t even dare let Bellamy open his mouth, fingernails digging into her thighs, “More about how I’m supposed to tie that Anne girl’s diary to slavery in the US in less than a thousand words?”

He looks unsure, his eyes losing some of that pleased crinkle he had earlier. “Do you—”

She doesn’t. Want to talk about it. Not with him, anyway. There’s only one person she needs to talk to, and she’s changing into her loungewear right now. Madi cuts him off, a little desperate even, “Please?”

A knowing grin forms on his lips. “If you promise to clean up your gear straight after.”

Madi groans. “You’re the worst.”

“You want an extension or not?”

See? He’s nice. Like, annoyingly nice. Once her mom’s finished with him, there’ll be nothing of him left. 

“Fine.”

* * *

“Mom,” Madi grits, not even bothering to knock on her mother’s door. “A talk.”

Clarke barely looks up from her sketchbook, just hums an affirmative under her breath. She’s fading out a few harsh lines with her pointer finger, going back in with her pencil after. The tip of her tongue dips out just slightly, and Madi refrains from rolling her eyes. Wasted effort considering she won’t notice anyway.

She walks to the foot of the bed, staring her mother down. “You and Bellamy.”

This seems to get her attention finally. Her blue eyes snapping up from her lap as her brow furrows together. “What about us?”

  
She’s using ‘ _us_ ’. Isn’t that just freaking amazing? She wishes she wasn’t such a natural talent at this whole setting her mom thing up, to be honest. Madi can’t keep the irritation out of her voice, “Is that not him you’re sketching?”

“Yeah, well,” she sighs, rubbing at the bridge of her nose with the heel of her hand. When she pulls it back, there’s a smudge of charcoal on her cheek. “I can’t really get the eyes right anyway.”

Does she even hear herself speak? Madi stomps her foot, just a little. “Mom, he’s sensitive.”

This seems to startle her, half a laugh spilling from her lips as she leans sideways to put her sketchbook down on her nightstand. “Where is this coming from?”

Madi’s face scrunches up, and she hesitates before sitting down on the bed. She crosses her arms, uncrosses them. Kicks at the air. Splutters a little with the words, “Remember when I wanted to borrow your phone to play WordFeud against grandma?”

Her mom’s eyes shine with amusement, and oh honey, a storm’s coming. “I mean, sure?”

She closes her eyes to brace for the impact, blurting out the words all at once, “I went on your Tinder.”

A beat to process it, and then her mom is exclaiming, “Excuse me?” 

Madi brushes her off quickly, cringing just a little at her her own explanation, “Not to like, swipe for you, just to see what you were up to.”

“And that’s somehow better?” She’s frowning now, which is a common expression for her, but this one is like a one-up from her usual ones. 

“No,” she grits through her teeth, letting the anger get the best of her. She reminds herself she’s not really mad, she’s just concerned. “You can lecture me about it later. It’s not the point.”

Clarke presses, all steely, “Being?” Her shoulders are stiff, and her lip is starting to curl into a pout, which means she’s upset. Madi _hates_ making her upset, but it’s like she can’t stop it. The words just keep coming, and coming, and she doesn’t even know what they sound like until they do.

“Being that you ghost people like you make a living out of selling cotton sheets, mom!”

“Mads,” her mom pleads, breath hitching as she opens her mouth to say more, but she beats her to it. 

Her head is spinning, breaths coming out in hard pants. Her palms are sweaty, and that dark feeling from earlier is crawling up her throat again, but more intense now. More overwhelming, and she shakes her head trying to get rid of it. “ _No._ You’re a runner. You make people care about you and then you run,” she says, meanly, sliding her hands into her hair and tugging on it until it hurts, hoping it’ll help straighten out her thoughts. Her mouth keeps moving, her voice trembling more and more with each word, “You ran from Wells, and you ran from Lexa, and you’ll run from Bellamy and he doesn’t deserve it.” 

It doesn’t help. The explosion of words. She just feels worse. 

Clarke sits up a little, hands twitching as if she wants to reach out but thinks better of it at the last second. Her eyes get all wide and big, and her voice is soft, careful, “Where is this coming from?”

Madi throws up her hands in defeat, turning her head away from her mom. The feeling in her chest keeps nagging at her. Hot tears stream down her cheeks, and she chokes on the words, “One day you’ll run from me too.”

Her hands come up to cover her face, her body shaking with sobs. God, she’s so embarrassed. She didn’t mean to make it all about her. She always does. She didn’t mean to, but she can’t help but feel like a weight is lifted of her chest. A chilly feeling of relief spreading throughout her limbs. She’s a horrible person, putting that all on her mom.

“Baby, come here,” Clarke cooes, motioning for her to come closer. Madi can barely make her out through the tears, but crawls towards her on her hands and feet anyway. As soon as she’s within reach, her mom presses her head against her chest, and she collapses against her, mom rocking her gently. “It’s okay.”

Her sobs turn into little hiccups after a while, and then after another while, she can take a full breath without it stuttering, and she’s whispering into her mother’s collarbone, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

“You did, and that’s okay,” Clarke says, bending down a little to press a kiss against the crown of her head. She strokes her hair away from her face softly, calming the loud pounding of Madi’s heart into duller thuds. “I understand where you’re coming from, but Bellamy is very different from Wells and Lexa, and you’re very different from all of them.”

Madi pushes herself up a little, skin feeling tight from the tears. “How?”

“Wells and me grew apart, but that wasn’t because he drunkenly confessed he had a crush on me. We’re adults. We’re busy,” her mother explains simply with a small shrug of her shoulders. She gives her a pointed look, “If you’d bothered to check my FaceTime log instead of my Tinder account, you’d see we still call at least once a month, and if you actually went into my game folder,” a small smile forms on her lips, “you’d have found the Chess app right beside WordFeud, which I beat his ass on daily.”

Madi sniffs, obviously not convinced, and Clarke’s face falls as she sits up, wipes at her tears with the heels of her hands while she talks, her voice calm and collected as she explains, “Lexa is where you come in. It’s why you’re different from all the rest.” Madi swallows tightly, that familiar lump back in her throat. Another thing that’s her fault. “She didn’t want kids. It’s not that I wasn’t willing to fight and stay,” her mom assures her, heat to her voice that implies old hurt, but it wilthers quickly, “it was that she didn’t tell me until I’d already sold my heart to you and then expected me to pick her anyway.” Her mom pauses, hands dropping back in her lap as she looks back up in Madi’s blue eyes for the first time since she started talking. “It was manipulative, and I was heartbroken she didn’t seem to know me at all.” The corners of her mouth turn up in a half-assed, close-lipped smile, picking a strand of hair off Madi’s forehead and tucking it behind her ear. She tilts her head slightly, eyes softening, “I’d pick you first any time. I couldn’t ever survive leaving you behind. You’re my whole heart, Madi.”

More tears start to fall down without her permission. “I know you would,” she cries through the sobs, burying her face back into her mother’s shoulder, “I’m freaking awesome.”

Clarke’s laugh shakes her entire body, hand rubbing her upper arm in a comforting manner. “You’re hanging around Raven too much.”

She breaks out into a similar laugh, right through the tears, pulling her head back enough so she can look at her mother. “She’s the one who told me to check your apps for dirt.”

Her mom takes her face in both of her hands, laughter fading into a soft smile, “I love you, okay?” She lets go of her, smile dimming just a little as her forehead creases, her serious face back on. “I agree I have the tendency to run when it gets too —” she seems to think it over, then settles on, “heavy, but you have taught me how worthwhile it is when you stay.”

“I love you too,” Madi says with a sniff, then breaks out into another laugh that feels almost delirious, wiping at her wet cheeks with both hands roughly, grumbles, “This is seriously so lame.”

Clarke laughs too, her own eyes welling up. She shakes her head lightly. “You do realize Tinder is specifically designed to ghost people, right?”

Madi can’t breathe, she’s laughing so hard. Her stomach hurts, and her lungs ache for air. “Yeah, but you have no mercy, mom. I think you made some of them cry.’

“That’s on them. I was always clear with them from the start,” her mom presses, semi-seriously, the last of her laughter dying off. Then she sobers up, brushing Madi’s long hair off her neck, fixating her gaze there as she talks, “If I were to ever date Bellamy, which is a hard if, it wouldn’t be like that.”

Madi knocks her elbow into her arm. “You want to date him though.”

Her mom’s eyes snap up to meet hers, picking at a thread on a her comforter, and although she looks uncomfortable, she doesn’t deny it. Her mouth curls up in a reluctant ghost of a smile, even. “Yeah, I kind of do.” 

Her forehead creases. “Why now? I mean, I wanted this for you, and I planned for all of this to happen—” Clarke is already raising her eyebrows, opening her mouth, so Madi quickly goes on, “You seemed fine with all your—” She cringes, then settles on, “Lunch breaks.”

Her mom tries to hide the amused grin on her lips, but does terrible. Her mouth twists to the side, and her nose scrunches up for a second, “Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have something more stable around,” she explains, obviously uncomfortable, with a shrug, and half an eye roll, because this is still her mom. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Madi smirks, crossing her arms over her chest all smug and judgmentally. “And you like his face.”

A groan slips from her lips, and she pushes her thumb and pointer fingers into her eye-sockets, rubbing slightly. “God, you heard that?”

“Of course I did,” she shoots back, sending her mom a weirded out look. “I was in the kitchen, not Tombouctou.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and Madi can practically hear her thinking. Iit’s another beat before she wonders, “Do you think—”

Madi’s blue eyes widen, jostling her mother’s knee with her hand. “You’re not seriously going to ask me if he _likes_ you back.”

She just looks guilty in return, mixed with a little shame. Good. She should be ashamed. That is pathetic. 

“You’re worse than Charlotte!” She shouts, full of disbelief, then takes pity on the miserable look on her mom’s face and rolls her eyes. “The answer is yes, by the way.” Her mom’s mouth twitches, but Madi beats her to it, “And I know what you’re next question is going to be, and _no_ , I don’t care if you date him.”

Her brow arches. “You sure?”

“Gee,” Madi’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, face twisting as she sarcastically presses, “It’s not like you’ve been holding back.”

  
A mischievous smile plays on her mom’s pink lips, “Actually, I kind of was.”

She just gapes at her. “My mom’s body is possessed by an actual frat boy.”

She’s impressed, but also like, grossed out. It’s a weird mix of feelings.

Clarke presses a hand to her chest, right where Madi’s mascara stains have probably ruined her shirt forever. “I’m offended.”

Madi settles in against the headboard next to her mother, leaning into her chest until her mother puts her arm around her. “Besides, we might not ever get out of here, considering the way 2020 is going,” she reasons, simply, keeping her voice light. “He’ll have to get corona, swoon you in the hospital while dying.”

Clarke sighs faux-wistfully, but can’t keep the deadpan out of her voice, “That’s the good stuff any true romance is made of.”

Her eyes glint, and she lifts her knees up to her chest and hugs them to her chest, a small, conspiratorially giggle bubbling up her throat. “I’ll hint it to him during his next office hours.”

She squeezes her shoulder, sending her a pointed look, “How about you leave the hinting to me from now on?”

“Deal,” Madi agrees, tossing her head back against the headboard. It lolls to the side, hiking an eyebrow at her mother. “And also, let’s never speak of this to anyone, like ever.”

She presses her lips together to keep from grinning. “Deal.”

* * *

Madi realizes her project has been working a little too well when they’re making plans to meet up without her behind her back. Like, not in person, because pandemic holding the world hostage and all, but on Skype. The losers came up with some excuse about making educational pamphlets for students to justify platonically exchanging emails with each other in the whole, entire three minutes Madi was peeing the other day. 

Her mom is going to be giving him advice — she could have emailed quicker and more efficiently — on hand hygiene — that he could’ve googled easily — and for some reason the lights are dimmed and her mother is wearing a black dress and make-up for the first time in three months. It’s just mascara and ruby red lipstick, but still. 

Madi padded in from her room so quietly, her mother doesn’t even notice her at first. She’s silently observing the scene playing out in her very own living room. Clarke is laughing at something he’s saying, that raspy one again, tucking her hair behind her ear as she reaches for her glass. It’s a normal juice glass, but there’s definitely wine in it, because there’s a vinegary smell in the air that makes Madi’s stomach churn. For some reason she’s on the carpet on the floor in front of the coffee table instead of on the couch like a regular person. 

“Is this a date?” She asks, rather loudly, startling her mother. And her teacher too, probably, considering there’s movement on the screen. 

“It’s not a date,” they say at the same time, Bellamy’s just slightly delayed because of the whole internet laptop thing. 

Madi smirks like a cheshire cat, languidly, staring at the both of them wholeheartedly unimpressed before she finally takes it easy on them and speaks, “Sure.” The sarcasm wasn’t really per her choice, it just comes naturally. 

“It’s not,” Clarke bites back, but her eyes are practically pleading with her from where she blinks up at her over the back of the couch,

Madi scoffs, hands wrapping around her opposite elbows. Do they think she’s a child? She’s not stupid. She leans a little to the left, taking a peak at the screen with another indignant huff. “Then why is Bellamy wearing hair gel?”

Bellamy is opening his mouth, but Clarke beats him to it, “I don’t know,” she shrugs, then innocently turns to glance over at the screen, hiding a smug grin, “He definitely looks better without it.”

He ducks his head, shaking it slightly. “Who says I haven’t looked like this all day?”

Clarke turns back towards him, slumping back against the couch sideways. There’s laughter in her voice, “Don’t say you had anywhere to be, we’ll know you were lying.”

Bellamy shrugs all nonchalantly, face blank. “Maybe I got ready with the sweet old lady from the check-out at Walmart on my mind.”

“Now I know for a fact you don’t shop at Walmart,” her mom sits up a little, legs folded underneath her ass, obviously taking him up on the challenge. Her entire face lights up, it’s kind of disgusting. 

He’s grinning, smug and amused and all kinds of other annoying things, leaning his forearms on what she guesses is _his_ coffee table, because it doesn’t look like he’s in his study like usual. “And how’s that?”

Her mother doesn’t even flinch, keeping up the whole unbothered slash unaffected act with a twirl of her hand at the screen, eyebrows raised. “You have a Wholefoods body.”

“You’ve only seen me from the waist up,” he argues skillfully, smirk only growing with each word he says. “My thighs are very un-organic looking.”

“I guess we’ll have to see,” her mother quips back, eyes sparkling and crap, she really has to get out of here _ASAP_. This is not at all what she imagined when she started this. She thought it would be more email-y, and less videochatting-y. 

Bellamy is staring at her mom’s face like she personally hung the moon and painted the sky, and she cannot stress enough how stupid these two people are. They’re literally a match made in heaven, and it hurts her to admit it. Madi rolls her eyes, turning on her heels, “Have fun on your date.”

Her mother calls out after her, “Not a date!” before the door slams shut. Idiots.

* * *

Madi is acutely aware her plan was a glaring success. 

They’re obviously constantly texting now about God knows what (it’s not like there’s anything _exciting_ happening), and they Skype almost every day or at least every other (the lipstick was dropped three nights in, but the clothing became more revealing so she doesn’t know what’s worse), and the other day, her mom actually declared she was tired of the lockdown with an aggravated sigh. Madi could get why Bellamy has nothing better to do, he’s literally not allowed to leave the house for any significant amount of time and he only has his cat to keep him company but this is her mom she’s talking about. Her voluntarily shut-in hermit time-of-her-life-having _mom_. Madi almost choked to near-death on her Lucky Charms.

But when she says acutely, she doesn’t mean like, that’s she’s simply aware of the fact she’s a certified modern-day Einstein. She means, like, _Acutely_ acutely. 

Like when she walks into the living room for a midnight snack and then instead she’s stumbling face first into the bookcase beside the door to her room, scrambling to go back inside to protect her eyesight from withering away permanently. Books clatter to the floor, one hitting her big toe as she hisses out a pained, and sincerely pissed off, “ _Mom_!”

Clarke quickly picks up her shirt to cover her bra-clad chest, slamming her iPad down loudly on the table. She actually flinches at the force she used, maybe afraid the glass broke but not calm enough to check. “Madi,” is all she says, panicked, and oh God, she’s wearing that red bra she’s always stuffing in the back of her drawer because it’s uncomfortable and they’re on freaking lockdown! Who the _crap_ chooses style over comfort during a pandemic?

Another loud thud as she crashes back into her door and Madi is still fumbling for the door handle blindly with one hand, reaching for her toe with the other, and afraid to open either of her eyes. “I want to die!”

She wants the ground to open up, and swallow her whole. Make her disappear forever, and ever. Take all her memories, good and bad, she doesn’t care anymore. She cannot live beyond this point. She cannot imagine a tomorrow in which she can live her life normally. It simply doesn’t exist.

“Mads—” Her mom tries again, to keep her from spiraling, obviously, but that’s too late, obviously as well. She’s struggling to get her shirt back on, Madi realizes as she peaks through one eye briefly to find the door handle finally, pushing it open.

There’s muffled sounds coming from the table, or even worse, the iPad and she’s absolutely _horrified_. 

“I’m going to bed!” She yells in lieu of standing around any longer and listening to her mom trying to stammer herself out of it like Madi’s never seen a romcom before in her life, slamming the door shut behind her. Madi presses herself back against it. Her chest heaves, but at least she’s breathing. 

That was like, really freaking awkward. And although she was one second away from severing their wifi cables with a kitchen knife forever, a selfless sacrifice very much worth her sanity, she guesses this _is_ what her goal was. The endgame, so to say.

Not the cyberboning, but like the way he was looking at her mom before they even had started cyberboning or whatever. At least she can rest easy knowing her mother is being appreciated. One way… Or another. 

_Ugh._ She scrunches up her face, pushing herself off the door. One day she’ll be happy, even, she assures herself, that her cupid ways got her mom what she deserved. Madi stumbles over to her nightstand and turns on her speakers, happily blasting Halsey around her room, before falling face first into her mattress. She doesn’t really giving three farts about their neighbours. They would understand. Even Cillian. Especially him, probably.

Because, that day is not today. Today, she sulks. And obsessively googles ways to erase one’s memory.

* * *

“To freedom!” Madi exclaims, running from her room to the door leading to the hallway, bag haphazardly stuffed with enough to last her the weekend, shouldering it up higher. 

Her mom is still on the couch watching the news, shifts her chin on her fist slowly to send her a weird look. She always takes so long to process things. All Madi needed to hear were the words ‘ _lockdown has been lifted_ ’ from the WHO themselves and she was rushing to her closet. “Where are you going?”

She blinks at her as if she’s stupid. “Uhm, away?”

Clarke sits up, motioning her closer. “What do you mean away?”

Madi begrudgingly gives in, padding closer to the couch. With a shrug and some attitude, she re-enforces, “I’m going over to Charlotte’s place.” _Duh_.

Her brow is still furrowed. “Why?”

“Obvious answer is that I’ve spent the last like, four months stuck here with you and I missed my friends and I’m sick of your face,” she counters, flicking her eyes up to the ceiling. Seriously, you’d think her mom would be the first to jump at the opportunity to go outside considering how much she’s been complaining about her life consisting out of working, eating and sleeping. She forgot the FaceTiming. And the texting. And the wistful sighing. She does that a lot, too. 

“Cute,” Clarke deadpans, face blank.

Madi dances a little closer, obviously smug as she pokes her mom in the shoulder with the hand not holding on to the strap of her bag. “And the even more obvious one is that you’ve been getting sick over someone else’s face for half as long and I figured you’d want to invite him over.” She throws in another innocent shrug of her shoulders, a bat of her eyelashes.

Her mom doesn’t seem convinced however. “The lockdown being _reluctantly_ lifted doesn’t mean we should all just go back to the way it was before—”

“Mom, seriously, shut up,” Madi cuts her off, getting impatient. She promised Charlotte she’d be there within half an hour and her mom is being annoying. It’s not like it’s hard to see the dude is into her and frankly, she’s just using the pandemic as a cover-up. Badly. “He’s one person. And he’s your boyfriend. If that sets off a second wave, we all deserve to die.”

She stammers, cheeks heating up, although her eyes longingly glance over at her phone briefly, as if Madi wouldn’t notice. She licks her lips, firmly urges, “That’s not the point.”

“You don’t have to be scared, you know?” She pushes, keeping any and all affection out of her voice. Tough love is the only thing that works on her mom sometimes. “He’s obviously into you. He could’ve done _anything_ this lockdown, like seriously?” Madi shakes her head a little, lifting her shoulders. “He could’ve written a book, or like cured a very specific type of cancer, or binge-watched everything on Netflix.” She holds her mother’s gaze, tipping her head to the side as she raises her eyebrows, “Yet he spent half his time talking to you. And no offense mom, but it’s not like you’re _that_ interesting.”

Clarke sighs, but she’s smiling slowly, reaching out for her hand over the back of the couch. Madi grabs it, squeezing her fingers briefly. Her mom pinches the bridge of her nose, arching a brow. “When did you get so smart?”

She pulls back her hand, blowing a raspberry into the air. A cynical tone coats her voice, “I saw a lot at a young age, it scarred me, shaped me. Made me wise beyond my years.”

“You voluntarily went onto my Tinder, Mads,” her mom answers, pleased with herself and her comeback as she leans back against the couch. “Stop trying to turn it into your villain origin story.”

She huffs, “And my family crashing to death right in front my very own eyes, but _sure,_ make it all about you mom.” Clarke’s smirk fades into a blank stare, her nostrils flaring but Madi’s already pressing a kiss to her cheek, ignoring her protests as she skips over to the door. “Have fun!”

* * *

(And fun they had.)

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> #quarantinebaby #bellarkebaby #reversethetrope #bellamyaliveinthefinale #streamb99
> 
> im [here](http://www.captaindaddykru.tumblr.com) and also here [here](http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru)


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